Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1887-10-28

Farra2ut, dashed to the luasi-hend, is
steamiug into Mobile harbor; StpnIsrh
cripples the rebel wing aud saves the day
at Gettvsburg Thomas is the rock of
Chickamauga Hancock, the superb, rides
down the line and leads the charge; the
swarthy face of Logan glows like flame ;
! Hooker is above the clOudS-aye, now tOr
ever above the clouds ; sherman marches
/ through Georgia to the sea; Grant has
/ throtIed Lee with the grip That never
| let's go either its duty or its nagnanimity.
Richmond falls, and 1.-THE Illinois rail
splitter" walks its streets, his lutte son
! led by his hand and q poor slave woman
anoints his feet with all she hath-her
kisses and her tears. rhe armies of the
republic pass in that last great review at
Washington. Clusters plume is there, but
Kearney's saddle is empty. And now once
more our veterans come marching home
| to receive the welcome of grateful PEG
pie and to stack the tattered flags which
the republic forever hence shall wear
above her heart.
All ! if poetry, if sentiment, if patriot
ism be anything in the ideals and char
acter of a people, IL Is not II lost hour that
gathers you together to recall, not more
| for the pathos of your own hearts THAI
| for the inspiration of advancing genera
tions, the romance, the reality, the glory,
the sacrifice of the knightly soldier of
1SGl AS if it were but yesterday, you re
call him. He had but turned 20. The
exquisite tint of youthful health was on
his cheek !; his pure heart shone from
| frank, outspeaklng eyes; his talr halr
clustered from beneath his cap. He was
| just entering on the vocation of his life.
| The doorway of his home was brilliant in
the dewey morn with the clamboring vine
and fragrant flower, rs in and out he
went, the beloved OF mother and sister
and the ideal of an American youth.
! The nnreckoning influence of the great
~ lnI ,gi
bly, moulded him into a champion of free
dom. Over the Students lamp, or by the
| tireside's blaze he had passed the nobler
nOvtiate of heart and mind trained to a
! fine sense of justice and to resolution
| equal to the sacrifice of life itself for right
and duty. His ideal was Philip Sydney
not Napoleon and when the drum beat,
when the first martyrs blood sprinkled
the stones of Baltimore, he took his place
in the ranks and went forward You re-
member his ingenious and glowing let
tiers to his mother, written as if his pen
were dipped in his very heart. How nov.
ell seemed to him the routine of service,
the life OF camp and march How eager
his wish to meet the enemy and strike
his first good blow for the good cause
What pride at the promotion that came
and put the chevron on his arm or the
strap upon h s:shoulder How graphic
allN ne described his sensation in the first
battle-the plllor that he felt creeping up
his face, the thrill along every nerve, and
the utter fearleSSnesS when once the
charge began aud his blood was up. Later
on, how gratefully he wrote of the days
in hospital; of the opening Of the box
from home; OF the generous distribution
of delcaces that loving ones had sent,
and of the never-to-bef forgotten comfort
of the gentle nurse, whose eyes and hands
seemed to bring to his cots.ue the summer
freshness and health Of the open windows
of his and her Vermont homestead be-
tween Mount Mansfield and the ConnecUi-
/ cut. No Amazon was she, with caliOus
| half-breast; but her whole wOman's heart
! was devoted, as We're the hearts of all her
sisters at the North, to tightening the
hardships and pain of war. Let her praise
never fail to mingle with the soldiers
tribute, nor her abilities be belittled in a
| land TO whose salvation and honor she
contributed as nobly in her service as he
IN his.
They took him prisoner. He wasted in
| Libby, and grew gaunt and haggard with
| the horror of hi sufferings and with pity
for the horror of tine greater sufferings OF
his comrades who tainted ana died at his
side lie saw his schOolnate painting
with the fever of thirst, vet shot ike 4
dog for reaching across the line to drink
the stagnant water a dog would have
scorned. He tunneled the earth and eS
capped. Hungry and weak, il terror of re
capture, he followed by night the path
way of the railroad. Upon its timbers
hoar with frost. he tottered in the dark
over rivers tnat flowed deep beneath his
treacherOus fOOthold. He slept IN thicket.
and sank in swamps. In long and pain
full circuits he stole around hamlets where
he dared not ask for food or shelter. He
saw,the glitter of hOrsemen who pursued
him. He knew the bloodhound was OF
his track. A faithful negro-good Samari
tan-tOOk com passion on him, bound NJ
his wounds, and set him on his way. He
reached the lines, and, with one hand al
ready grasping at freedom, they caught
him and took him back to his captivity
He WAS exchanged at last, aud You re
!, member-perhaps some aged mother here
remem bers-When he came home on &
snort furlOugh, how war-Worn yet how
manly he had grown. But he soon return
ed to the ranks and to the welcome of his
conrad S. They loved him for his manli
ness, his high bearing, his fine sense o.
honor. They felt the nobility of charac
ter and conduct that bieathed out from
him. They recall him now with tears auC
pride. All this very day, from time tc
time, his name has been upon Your lips a.
you met together, and his living memory
in your hearts. In the rifle pits around
Petersburg you heard his steady voice anC
firm command. The bullet of the sharp
shooter picked off the soldier who stood
at his side and who fell dying in his arm,
One last brief message whispered, anC
faithfully sent home. 1t was IA forloru
hope-the charge of the brave regiment
IN which ne was captain, reduced now by
three years long fighting TO II hundred
veterans, conscious that somebody had
Numbered, yet grimly obedient to duty
Some who saw him then fancied that ht
seemed that day like one who foresaw the
end. But there was no tliuching as he
led, He had just turned to give a cheer
when the fatal ball struck him. There
was convulsion of the uplifted hand hi.
eyes, pleading and loyal, turned theil
last glance to the flag; his lips parted
He fell dead, and at nightfall lay with his
cold face TO the stars, his immortal sou
with God. Home, whittier his swift spirit
had already fled, they brought him. They
buried him in the village churchyard, un
der the green turf. Year by year his com
rades and his kin scatter his grave with
flowers His picture hangs on the home
stead walls. Children look up to it anC
eagerly ask to near his story. 1t was more
than 20 years ago, and the face is so young
SO boyish and fair, that you cannot be
lieve he was the hero of 20 battles, a lead